Hope of Morning
by thatonecrazyrose19
Summary: Enter Solaria Seraphin, Sol for short. Her life has just become available for you to read. O joy! Follow her and her journey as she grows with the Katekyo Hitman Reborn! Crew, makes several new friends and acquaintances, finds herself in the Mafia and what it means to be Sol, and all the while, inevitably falling for some certain Mafia boys in the world. Read, review and enjoy.
1. Prologue: Hope of Morning

So, I really have decided that I love writing, both in mind and spirit. After writing my first fanfic on One Piece, which I am still currently writing, yes, rest assured, I realized that I wanted to, well, write more. And so, ideas kept popping into my head. And then I was listening to music and titles, lyrics, and storylines – they all came to me sequentially in the span of only an hour, late last night from where I am.

So, today is the day in which I begin a new story whilst writing another. This time, the story is centered on Katekyo Hitman Reborn! because I, personally, adore the anime and manga. It's definitely one of my favorites out there. Too bad it's actually over, however. That made me so sad.

That's why we have fanfics to get our sorrows out over finished anime and manga. It's like . . . a spiritual thing.

Anyways, here I am, as usual, rambling. Forgive me! I have several ways this story can go as well, but unlike my One Piece fic, I'm going to write a "try me out" attempt of a chapter to see if anyone likes the story so far. And then I shall hopefully await some reviews. Deal?

In doing so, as stated above, if you guys review and give me recommendations, that way, I can see whether it's popular enough and inevitably balance a schedule between this story and my significant other, _Finding Me._ (And if anyone wants to check that one out, feel free.)

I'm also going to lengthen this story more. In my other one, I have three to five thousand words chapters and I'd like to bump it up to a possible six or seven thousand in this one, which will be quite an interesting task. Bear with me, all the same.

Good talk, guys.

The plot and characters of KHR belong to Akira Amano. My new character belongs to me, and I literally love her, so, thank goodness she's actually mine. :]

* * *

Prologue: Hope of Morning

* * *

"It's being here now that's important. There's no past and there's no future. Time is a very misleading thing. All there is ever, is the now. We can gain experience from the past, but we can't relive it; and we can hope for the future, but we don't know if there is one."

* * *

In 1957, the Federal Bureau of Investigation, more commonly referred to by the public as the FBI, were forced to admit and recognize the Mafia as a National Crime Syndicate. Before this year, the FBI felt that the Mafia and the Mob were simply a group to be taken care of by local police forces in nearby regions closest to where each "famiglia" resided in secret.

The Mafia is kept in the "hush-hush" if you will. You may hear a few facts about it here and there, or even a name may pop up, like Charles 'Lucky' Luciano, or even the infamous Al Capone. Al Capone and his gang, I suppose, took part in the ignominious St. Valentine's Day Massacre of 1929 in which Capone's gang and other had an all-out fight, or better yet war, of bitter vengeance.

The Mafia is not something to mess with, nor is it something you want to . . . ungracefully "stumble" upon. In fact, even thinking upon joining or being a part the Mafia is something one should most definitely abscond from.

Unless, well, unless of course you're me. And when you're me, you have, unfortunately, been born into the Mafia, the scandals, the scheming, the murdering, the plundering and the dying. There's no escaping one's fate, regrettably in my honest opinion; there's only one clear option: embrace it.

As one of my dearest role models, Albert Einstein once said, "There are only two ways to live life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is."

This is my story. However, I definitely feel it cannot even be considered a miracle.

Others . . . would reasonably beg to differ. And I with them.

* * *

After taking you through a rudimentary and rather pathetic introduction to just some random facts about the Mafia, as well as a polite introduction as to how my life was lived as a child actually in the Mafia, let me set down some seeds, and let you guys water them down, eventually and hopefully creating a wonderful tree in the end.

Who am I? I'm sure you have been eagerly and curiously awaiting such an answer after I withheld it for so long, or at least, I can only assume that's how you all feel. I'm just as impatient, worry not.

My name is Solaria Seraphin.

I know, I know, it's quite an interesting and yet bizarrely foreign name. However, it is my name all the same. If it's pure drudgery to actually read it aloud, I'll aid you. Follow after me: "So-lar-ee-a." That's my first name. And the second: "Se-ra-phin."

Bless your hearts, I'm just kidding. As you'll soon discover, or maybe you've already had the foresight to notice it now, I'm a bit of a bratty child. For your ease of reading, please call me Sol.

My teachers were always so confused when they had to read my name-cards to the class, God knows why –wink, wink - And then there I would be, standing in front of a whole new lot of peers, feeling embarrassed as any child whose name was just mispronounced should.

My appearance? Golly, you guys do happy to ask a lot of me. I'm a nice average height, if I do say so myself, of five feet five inches, or for my Eastern Hemisphere, around one hundred and sixty-five centimeters. I'm extremely, detrimentally thin, which of course, has a long story behind it – I'm not sharing. Whoops! I also have long, flowing, auburn red-brown hair that rests just around my hips. I also have bright, rather glowing as I have been told, emerald green eyes, and a light covering of a few freckles just below them, and a dashing of freckles on my nose. With my long hair, and glowing eyes, I'm typically the talk of my schools, and boy, have I been to a lot of them.

In fact, the concept above, (^) is unsurprising. I've moved from all sides of the planet practically. My adoptive father, Anastagio Seraphin, has one of those jobs in which they have to relocate him constantly. And the ironic thing is, he acts like it's such a burden to move.

"Oh, the horror, I need to pack up all the things I have in my office and order these files, and restock this, and that."

Well, excuse me, Father, but you're not the one who has to go to a different school at any point and time and meet new teachers and students, as well as learn a multitude of languages to keep pace with all of these child-foreigners to me, whilst I, the foreigner to them. It's extremely taxing and rather difficult. I've gained the foresaid habits of both biting my nails right down to the quick out of nervousness, and not talking to anyone. I mean, if you knew you might not even be at a school for a _week_, would you speak to anyone? I think not.

And to also include in my spiel, it's hard to continue moving with the record I have. I have my days of being an absolute delinquent, but I also have my days of my prodigal genius. With an IQ I've been far too lazy to actually get measured by professionals, I can only assume I'm a genius from the work I put out in school, with minimum effort and my studying skills, or lack thereof.

And before I scare you, or force you into misinterpreting my father's work, please understand. He _isn't_ in the Mafia – thank goodness. He's got a stereotypical office worker business job as a CEO. He's important in his field, though I really don't feel like educating you in the dull drabbles that consist primarily his boringly pitiful job. Trust me; you do not want to know.

My parents _were_ in the Mafia. And please do notice that past tense (). It's there for several reasons, none of which I shall go into now. Bear with me on that one.

To conclude my little "This is Me" opener, I'm your average sixteen year old child, with randomly attractive facial and hair attributes, lots of schools, peers and moving, a horribly dull father (ouch) and parents formerly in the Mafia.

And here is me, just trying to live my life. Whilst also trying to balance the Mafia and every other thing my father decides to put on my plate. In essence, I'm a busy kid.

"Inaction breeds doubt and fear. Action breeds confidence and courage. If you want to conquer fear, do not sit home and think about it. Go out and get busy."

Well, it appears even fate would agree with me. Being busy exudes self-confidence. Maybe I'll actually get some. –Sighs –

And that's where I sign off – for now at least.

Ta-ta~!

* * *

A/N: And there it is: My prologue, which I like very, _very much._

Please do review this story. Your perspectives on it right now will be the deciphering factor in my continuing it for now or not.

No pressure or anything.

Happy early Wednesday for me, lovies.

xoxo


	2. Moving On

So, even though I wanted more reviews and whatnot, this story has been on my mind for a long while now, and I've been working on it in school, so I said, "Why not?" and decided to just write/type/publish the next chapter today. Plus, I've gotten two lovely reviews, some follows and some favorites as well as over 60 views, so I felt that I needed to repay you guys.

I haven't been uploading anything else for a while because . . . well, the Harry Potter depression hit me really hard over the week. I've cried a solid three hours over Fred Weasley's death since . . . oh, I don't know, Monday. Don't judge me. I loved him. So, if I somehow implement a tiny version of him and Harry Potter into my writing, don't mind me. I'm coping. I might actually write a fic about Fred and a new OC of mine just to cope with my losses. I've been an unbelievable, emotional hot mess.

Then there's the whole _The Fault in Our Stars _thing . . . and that's been killing me. Why not just drive a stake through my heart, John Green. God.

Anyways, here I am, typing this, and hoping that this next chapter will bring in some more views and such. I know, leaving everything with a prologue kind of . . . sucks. It's so vague and yet intriguing to the point where you want to read more, but guess what? I was so cool, I didn't actually write it yet.

Ah, well, here goes Chapter One. Have fun reading.

And seriously, do review. I like reading those. They keep me focused and on task. And they make me really, really happy.

As a final comment out of common courtesy, the plot and characters of KHR belong to Akira Amano whilst Sol belongs to me. Yeah . . . Here goes nothing.

* * *

Chapter 1: Moving On

* * *

Whilst sitting in a large oak tree, I gazed upon the beautiful sea and pretended to be anywhere, anyways away from where I was at that present moment. With my shoes off, my hair down and the wind blowing through the auburn ringlets, I couldn't feel more carefree and at home with the natural world around me. My simple blue jeans with rips at the knees and my faded Sleeping With Sirens shirt and my leather jacket leaning on the edge of the tree branch, I embrace the sunlight, nice and warm on my pale skin. It was paradise, or at least a form of it.

And unfortunately, I was leaving this version of paradise . . . again.

"'I fear oblivion,' he said without a moment's pause. 'I fear it like the proverbial blind man who's afraid of the dark,'" I begin, reciting one of my favorite quotes from my latest novel.

"There will come a time when all of us are dead. All of us. There will come a time when there are no human beings remaining to remember that anyone ever existed or that our species ever did anything," my friend follows.

"There was time before organisms experienced consciousness, and there will be time after. And if the inevitability of human oblivion worries you, I encourage you to ignore it. God knows that's what everyone else does," I finish.

We glance at each other, trying to stay balanced on the tree branches. _The Fault in Our Stars_ is our current obsession right now, and bane, quite frankly. It's a drug, a different and yet totally effective kind of poison, and it hurts. However, right now, it seems oddly fitting to the situation that has befallen me and my life.

"You're moving . . . already?" My friend of two months, Mathieu, asked me. With shoulder length brown hair, dark chestnut brown eyes and an even array of freckles, Matt was easily a comfort to have. He was like a . . . chocolate Labrador. Cute, sweet, and ever so brown, Matt was my friend, and a pleasure to have. Plus, he was tall and enjoyed climbing trees just as much as I did. He was more or less my antithesis. I was punk-rock and he was . . . almost folk-like. I guess the best analogy to our relationship would be that I was the Three Days Grace to his Mumford and Sons. And somehow that relationship just _worked._

Taking a deep breath, dreading telling Matt the story of complete idiocy yet again, I mentally prepared myself to tell the tale.

"Well, contrary to public belief, my father seems to enjoy breaking the code of not moving on a weekly basis," I told him resentfully.

Matt scoffs, clearly annoyed with my current living situation, "That may be the _stupidest_ thing I have ever heard in my entire life. Why not just stay and live here? You're practically my sister." He looks away, clearly contemplating the possibility of having a 'new sister' in his life, his home and his country. I could practically see him having the conversation with his parents and weighing the odds for and against me living with him.

"Yeah, I know, it is rather tedious and ridiculous, but I literally cannot stay here, in France, with you. I would, honestly, love to live here forever. I love you, already, more than anything in the world, but I just have to leave. My father would not be a happy man if I bailed on him now after traveling for so long with him. Merci beacoup, mon ami," I thank him remorsefully. I would love to stay in France. The art, the baguettes, and the vineyards – oh the vineyards! – why would I even fathom wanting to leave? France is definitely a fabulous experience with its ethereal streets and gorgeous beaches. Only my second time ever living in the country itself and here I am, already whisked away soon thereafter.

Poor Matt, too. I'm leaving the poor kid alone. Even though friendships genuinely take more than two short months to actually become something, Matt and I truly bonded after a short, unbelievably short, amount of time. Our music tastes, picky food-likes and stand-off personas led to an amazing bond. And now I just have to leave him. Thus why I hate moving.

"But . . . But France needs you!" He whines incessantly, trying his best to reason with me and my steadfast conclusion that I have to leave. "I need you! Yeah, me, your friend. I've gotten so much more fun out of living in France in these past two months than I have these past sixteen hideously awful sixteen years," he looks me in the eyes with a downcast expression. And I know what he means. Before I met Matt, he was a pretty suicidal kind of guy. I guess you could say I became the 'light' of his life. [A/N: It's a pun – get it?! The name: 'Solaria' has the root 'sol' that means 'sun'. Sun-_light_ . . . haha . . . Okay, I'll give it a rest now.]

"I'd stay, I really would," I tell him dejectedly. "You know I've really enjoyed it here – in France. Howevever, he will absolute castrate my body, or even yours, if I dare not leave with him." He really will. Do not ever, ever, _ever _get on the bad side of my adoptive father . . . bad things happen to mediocre people.

"No offense, and do _not _tell him I said this about him, but your father is a son of a bitch. _You_, you are Sol – not him. You cannot live your life whilst living his! It's not possible, nor is it plausible," Matt says and pauses to calm down. He can get really heated sometimes, him being an Aries. It's unsurprising really, them being Fire signs and all. I can tell from what I've gathered in these past few months that Matt really does have his share of violent tendencies. I'm a bit nervous to just up and leave him alone when actually knowing this detail about him.

"Where're you going anyways? Back to America? Or perhaps Australia? I heard Australia is pretty cool, besides the fact everything there can pretty much kill you," Matt inquires. That's what I love about him. His three hundred and sixty degree mood swings are the most entertaining things to actually experience. One second, he'll go all-out assassin on someone for the slightest upset, and the next, he wants to be peaceful and learn about things, for example, like my travels. Matt truly is a crazy kid. A crazy, beautiful, French child and I honestly adore him for it. Why not just drive the stake through my poor, wretched heart now?

"Ah, the blessed question finally births itself from thine brain, eh? I believe he said we're traveling to . . . Japan?" I try to recollect information from my memory banks to the conversation my father and I actually had last night. I tend to block him out, much more than I really should honestly, and avoid contact with him as though he were Medusa's offspring or something. I don't hate him, don't get me wrong. I just don't particularly like him. Logically, that actually makes sense in my mind.

"Get. Out. Of. Here. Japan?! That's freaking crazy! What I would give to go there . . ." Matt trails off, giving me an envious look all the while. "Where are you staying in Japan?"

He's so curious, goodness me. Maybe we shouldn't have had _this_ version of the conversation I had planned out in my mind.

"Um, that's actually a fabulously brilliant question . . ." I try my best to have even the beginning letter of the place come to me on the tip of my tongue. However, it's harder to search through the pools of names, dates and places that actually inhibit one's mind. "Um . . . oh, 'n,' it begins with an 'n'. N . . . Nami . . .OH! Namimori!" I finally spout out.

He probably thinks I'm such a bloody idiot for taking so long to remember a name of a place. Ah, well, I did finally get it.

"Namimori," he starts. "It sounds really nice. Simple, but still totally nice. Almost, well, final. You know what I mean?" He looks at me optimistically, as though I would actually understand what he means by that. Inferring and reading between the lines? Yeah. Definitely not my strongest suit in school.

"Are you implying this is it? No more moving?" I shake my head skeptically. "My father would never just stop and agree to let me stay here, in one place, after all these years."

"Ma chère amie, my dear friend, your father has only one job in the entire world, and no, it's not the one he's doing currently. Know what his actual job is?" He probes me again, implying that _the_ moment for _the_ lecture has arrived.

I nod my head, silently imploring him to continue with his lecturing. The faster we do this, the faster I don't feel like I'm in school, and the quicker my father can be removed from our discussion.

"His job is quite simple: Let his daughter be happy," Matt answers.

"Ah, yes, _be happy._ Thank you for enlightening me, Matt," I tell him sarcastically.

"No, for reals, Catherine! Think about this entire thing logically," he begins. [Yes he called me 'Catherine'. That's one of our longest running jokes.] "Your dad should want what's best for you. If moving to Japan is what you honestly need and he lets you stay there, then I completely support it. Dude, I'd move there with you – given if I had the actual chance to do so," Matt winks at me. "I'm just kidding, but honestly, you need to learn how to smile more, Sol. I think Japan will be good for you – a healthy way to cope."

Giving a quick nod, I respond with an, "I know, I know."

It's silent for a moment. And then another thing creeps into my mind. "I bet I'll move at least one more time before he finally decides to stop moving me – us – all around the planet."

"How much do you want to bet? Because I'll seriously go with my life at this point."

"Psh, please stop, Matt. I'll keep you posted, dufus! No need to go sacrificing yourself for my location details."

Together, we laugh at his grandeur performance to lay down his life over a completely ridiculous bet that seemed to just escape from my mouth. I sigh. "I'm going to miss you, Matty."

"Write me all the freaking time, kid. And don't you dare forget to eat – I know how your brain works. Don't even try to get out of eating, or I swear I'll come find you and get you to eat myself. I know that game you play – talk a lot, divert the attention away from what you're doing and the food on your plate, eventually call find a way to cover the plate, resulting in throwing it out. It's not cool, Sol," Matt looks at me ferociously.

"Yes, yes, mon ami. I understand; I'll eat, okay?" I raise my hands in defeat. God, he's terrifying.

"Good, good, I'm glad we're on the same page in that respect. And on another note, don't forget to continue speaking different languages. What're you at now, anways? Seven?"

I nod. I've learned my native speaking tongue, English, as well as French, German, Italian, Japanese, Latin and Greek.

"All right! That's so perfect. You know, linguistics is totally your niche. I don't think I've seen anyone pick up so easily on languages before. You're amazing, Sol." Matt smiles proudly at me. "You should really work on learning more."

I laugh. The dreams Matt has planned out for me might inevitably give me a run for my money. Learning to read and write, as well as speak seven languages is hard enough. Adding more and more and my poor brain might explode.

Our jovial moment was ruined by the ringing sound of my Windows 8X. All one could hear was an Evanescence song going off in the nearby vicinity. "Alo?" I ask, answering the phone.

"Plane leaves in three hours. Where are you? Why aren't you home, or even packed for the matter?" No hello or just a simple how are you – no, just down to business, "Do this" and "Do that" for him. Naturally he would pick now to decide to call me.

"It won't take me even an hour and a half to pack, let alone three. I planned this entire trip to Japan out already. I don't have that much on me anyways. It's much more affordable to pack light. Matt's fine, by the way – thanks for asking. You know, _you know_ I told you that I was going over to his place to say our final goodbyes before we leave the country." I tell him, annoyed at the fact that once again, I have to coddle his pathetic memory. We may not be related, but my God, like father, like daughter. We really don't listen to each other. How pitiful is that?

"I was unaware of the fact that an outing consisting of saying a simple, "Goodbye," would take an unbelievable four hours to do, Solaria. Home, now, no questions asked. I won't tell you again." And with that, he hangs up. The little prick.

"Matt, I got the call. It looks like I'm going to have to go now. You-know-who wants me back in his clutches."

"Shit! Already?!" He asks, shocked by the news.

I nod, tired from the three minute conversation I had. I jump out of the tree, landing on the soles of my feet. Matt follows my lead, landing rather clumsily next to me. I had to reach out and grab his right arm to steady his body.

"Merci!" He smiles goofily. We're such klutzes sometimes.

Pausing to put on my shoes, I grab my socks and slip on my Converses, slowly lacing up the sneakers. I have to make this moment last as long as it can, you know?

After standing for an unbelievably short moment, Matt grabs me roughly and forces me into the biggest, tightest and most rib-crushing, lung-deflating hug one could never have ever even thought possible. I could tell he was horribly unhappy and disappointed with the latest phone call.

"I love you, Sol," he mumbles softly into my left shoulder. "Give him hell for me on the way back, and even on the plane, would you?"

"Naturally. Anything to prolong this father-daughter quest to travel to Japan. Oh! I almost forgot to give you this!" Reaching avidly into my back pocket of my jeans, I find a white piece of paper and give it to Matt. Having pulled away rather rapidly, he was really dazed.

Confused with this item, he opens it up. For a couple of seconds, Matt just looks perplexed. And then, he begins to get emotional. "You drew . . . oblivion? You drew the end, just for me?"

_The Fault in Our Stars_ shall forever be brought up in my life. I just had to draw my take on oblivion for him. "Of course. I read the book with you. It's one of my favorite, and most depressing times of my entire life. I have to make us remember it, forever."

He just smiles, giving me a teary-eyed look. "You're literally the absolute best. I will never not think of you when I re-read the book, or think of oblivion."

"Ah, yes, of course. I might heavily debate with him to just come right back here to watch the movie with you so that we may have the chance to sob over it together."

"I'd really like that." Matt leans his head to the side, smiling and showing his dimple.

"Oh! Before I forget, if you happen to find any good music, songs or artists . . . don't lack the motivation to hit me up. I need to keep my music fresh, you know?""

"Duh, my musical protégé," he laughs. "Bye, Miss Solaria."

I think Matt could tell I was starting to look a bit nervous. Goodbyes are the hardest things in the world, especially when you're trying your hardest to fight the tide and go against it. "Bye, Monsieur Matthieu. Live on, my whimsical friend. And don't forget, you don't need me alone to make you happy." Smiling, whilst actually feeling horrid on the inside, I walk away, telling myself not to look back. I needed to be strong right now.

* * *

Packing is such a joke, straight up. Literally such a freaking joke. Upon walking home, all I could think about was the fact that I don't know what the weather, temperature or climate is in Japan. Cold . . . warm . . . moderate? What if I have an overabundance of summer clothes: tee shirts, shorts, flip-flops, and all I need are boots, coats, long-sleeves and the like?

This moving thing . . . Sol is so totally not feeling it.

Maybe I should have listened to him and packed when I had an abundance of time. Now, I've really procrastinated myself into dire straits. Go me.

Walking up to my front doorstep, I take the key out from under the carpet and move to unlock the mahogany door. With a slight creak, it finally opens. I step inside, trekking along the marble walkway until I reach the living room. There, I stop and take a deep breath.

"Guess I'll never be seeing this room again," I mumble to myself. It was a nice, big room with lots of windows and natural light. There was a large television with my Xbox and my games as well. It was a gamer's paradise.

Scrunching my shoulders, I continue up the stairs and taking a left, go all the way down the hall and into my bedroom. With the white carpet, the golden drapes and the yellow pillow case and comforter set, my room really emphasizes that whole 'light' concept.

Strolling over to the drawers, I ungracefully take everything out and dump it onto the floor. The mess that made in the span of only a few short minutes is actually unbelievable. I hate clothing sometimes. Diving into my closet, I find the three duffle bags. I have to put these clothes into those suitcases. What a joke.

This might just take longer than three hours.

* * *

I had to fold, re-fold and fold again, as well as sit and stomp my clothing to get all of it to fit into the three duffle bags. I swear, I deserve an award, if I do say so myself. Everything else had already been taken out of the room by the moving men yesterday. Clothing was the last resort before officially leaving.

I roll the three bags out of the room and down the stairs, leaving them near the front door. I walk back into my room and reach under the bed to find my acoustic guitar. Strumming a few chords, I hum quietly to pass the last fifteen minutes before my father said he was going to pick me up.

You'd assume I had gotten used to moving after having to do it all the time, but I can't. Everywhere I go, I leave a bit of my soul with it. I learn to love where I am, no matter how short the time.

Can you really blame me?

I begin to sing. It's the best way to deal with stress.

_I can't promise you that I won't let you down_

_And I_

_I can't promise you that I will be the only one around_

_When your hope falls down_

_But were young_

_Open flowers in the windy fields of this war-torn world_

_And love_

_This city breathes the plague of loving things more than their creators_

Finishing the first verse, I realized how much I love Mumford and Sons. Their folk-like music is sweet and absolutely blessed. It's helping. Barely, but it is.

Looking out the front window, I see his car pull up. It's here.

It's time.

* * *

I've realized something else after all this time:

I hate flying.

That whole, "This plane can crash at any point and time, but we have an extremely well- trained pilot on board with us" thing? Yeah, that doesn't make me feel any better. Saying he can fly a plane even though it can crash just illustrates the dangers of flying. So, why does my father like it so much? I can't even fathom such a ridiculous thing.

Rolling my eyes as he positions himself to sleep, I plug my ear-buds into my iPod and attempt to quell my fears with some good old-fashioned rock and roll. The Moody Blues will forever be my go-to when the going gets rough.

I had my 'hipster'-looking glasses on, as I refuse to wear my contacts on a plane ride. It's ridiculous. Plus, whilst reading, glasses make me feel so much more sophisticated. It's really empowering. You should try it.

Reaching for my horribly busted up, corners ripped, pages stained, millionth-time read copy of _The Goblet of Fire,_ I smirk thinking about what a loser I am. Only I would fall in love with Fred Weasley and his pranks, honestly. J.K. Rowling permanently made my "Favorite Author Who Decided to Rip My Heart Out" List when she wrote his death. Everyone tells me that I need to leave my fantasy world of characters that aren't actually real, but how can I when they're written so wonderfully well? I will never not see Fred as an actual person. He will forever live in my heart.

When I find a real person that I can love, I will. Deal?

Opening the very used page one of my book, I delve into my all-time favorite out of the entire series.

And besides reading, I try and attempt to be incognito whilst crying over Cedric before even getting there.

* * *

Japan is . . . literally amazing.

It's exciting, bubbling with activity and an unbelievable place to hold a mass of people.

I haven't experienced anything like it, and this was just the airport alone.

I cannot wait to explore this country. It'll be an adventure.

Following my father, I look at the sakura blossoms and the other types of notable foliage around the area. "It's beautiful!" I say to myself.

"Come on, Solaria! We don't have all day," my father presses me for time, as per usual. Always such a kill-joy, that man.

"What's the rush? You know we literally just got here," I ask, annoyed.

"That's the problem. You have to go to school tomorrow. You need to get out your uniform and get a good amount of sleep and everything. This isn't new to you, so come on."

I sigh. Same old, same old. Some things in life, especially in my life, will never change.

* * *

Our house is small, which is fine, honestly. Two people barely need a house larger than the one we have. Plus, I'll probably be the only real resident of the place anyways. I don't think he and I ever stay in the same place for longer than half an hour tops. Dropping me off with my clothing and things, my father leaves me to go off and "work". Of course. Why should I expect anything different? Work comes first. I'm pretty sure he doesn't even know when my birthday is, but if it was his boss? He'd know the date, month, year and even the time. What a sweetheart.

I enter the Japanese home, happy to see a newfound territory. Only I would get this excited over the architecture in a residency building. Walking to my room, I'm assuming it's mine because he would probably want the larger one; I place my bags in the corner. I should probably look for the uniform, but knowing what's actually in those three duffle bags, I'm a bit worried. Something will probably blow up.

I really don't want to go to school. Plus, my father signed me up with the wrong age group. I kid you not. I'm with fourteen year olds versus children my age: sixteen. I'm already really smart, so now having to deal with kids two years younger than me, it's embarrassing. Thank goodness I don't look my age. Otherwise, I'd be really upset.

Plus, school implies effort and consideration for one's education – both of which I fail to have or want. School is almost the equivalent of a polite prison. Sure, they're not totally mean with you, but some of those teachers will totally hit you if they had permission to use corporal punishment. And honestly, nobody wants a ruler belted across their knuckles. Ever.

And, me being the new kid, I'm going to get a lot of looks. Auburn hair and emerald eyes stands out. All the girls are going to want to ask about where I was from and if my hair is natural and how I do my make-up, you know typical random girly-girl bullshit. And the guys are all going to be watching me too.

How is that even okay?

Luckily, I'm actually amazing at Japanese because if I had difficulties speaking the language, I'd officially kill myself now. I don't need to get made fun of on the first day of school either.

* * *

Maybe it was due to the lack of activity, or the emotional trauma I put myself through by reading _The Goblet of Fire_, but all I know is that:

I can't sleep.

And I don't mean it in a way that implies I have nerves and random restless excitement to go to school. I mean I literally can't sleep. I'm an insomniac. And today has decided to deign me with the worst night sleep in ages.

Nothing was helping. Music, tumblr, writing, reading, drinking warm milk and even resorting to counting sheep. Nothing was working.

So, here it is, three in the morning, and I'm up, watching _The Hobbit: The Desolation of Smaug, _in hopes that perhaps Benedict Cumberbatch's superb voice, or Martin Freeman's wonderful 'hobbit-ness' would subdue my qualms and grant me some rest. However, the two _Sherlock_ stars cannot even solve this case, unfortunately.

This movie is good, however. At least I can say that I've done something with my time rather than stare up at the ceiling and pretend I'm somewhere else as I've been infamously known to do.

Matt used to sing me to sleep. He'd rock me to and fro and sing "The Hanging Tree" with me. My melodious voice and his harmonious voice accented the others quite wonderfully. It would simply lull me into a dreamless sleep. However, Matt is gone, many upon many miles away, probably in school or getting ready at this point.

And here I am, forgetting my promise already. I didn't eat. But this time, it's not my fault. My father neglected to put food in the refrigerator, meaning I have nothing.

What a wonderful parent.

I'm going to end up passing out in school tomorrow. I see this impending doom happening already.

* * *

I. Hate. Uniforms.

I honestly really do. I just can't seem to get used to the idea of looking like everyone else. It's rather uncomfortable, strange and forever foreign to me. How can I be my typical punk-rock self if I'm wearing a skirt?

Thank goodness it's dark blue. If it were white . . . gosh, the number of things I could do to make a mess. I'm so clumsy; I'd probably fall into a ditch and come out covered in mud if I tried. Knock on wood. With a simple white blouse, blue knee socks and flats, as well as a small, pink-peach bow, I was all set for class, which is strange because I'm typically the straggler in school – the one who tries their hardest to come into class late or at least last.

Today was not the day.

Knowing I had no food, nor even the slightest bit of cash given to be, courtesy of my ever busy father, I had to figure out a way to survive the day without any sustenance. It wasn't like I could go to a vending machine and find food, nor could I scavenge and find extras. I was ultimately screwed.

Grabbing my book bag and looking into the mirror, giving myself one last overlook, I left the home, all the while thinking:

Thanks, Pops. Thanks a billion.

* * *

I got lost. Yeah, really, really lost. So lost, I actually found my way to a ditch. Where these things actually come from or why someone would honest-to-God need a ditch is so far beyond me that it's not even in the galaxies.

I have no idea why I'm so directionally challenged. I mean . . . someone like me who had Mafia parentage and has moved all her life and has had to do everything on her own due to bad parenting should know where to go. And yet, here I am, lost.

I really am on a roll, Japan, aren't I?

Taking a one hundred and eighty degree turn I walk away from the ditch as quickly as I can in the hopes no one witnessed my disappointed and awestruck gazing of the ditch itself. I just literally can't believe I found one.

Walking along a sidewalk for a good fifteen minutes whilst avidly looking at my watch, I finally found the school. And I actually made it on time.

Namimori was a cute school. I mean, I don't rate schools like that – no one should – but the school itself was a good size. I've been to ridiculously big schools. They aren't fun. In fact, they're actually really terrifying. They have metaphorical black holes. You feel like you're in the maze in _The Goblet of Fire_. Everything is so big and then the people – oh the people! There's so many. Thousands. I think the last school I went to had over four thousand students. Four thousand. I am not making this up.

It's preposterous.

I like this school much better.

Walking onto school property, I look for the entrance of the building.

I can tell I'm going to have an interesting day already.

And boy is Matt going to get an absolute eyeful when I write him his letter and he has the finite pleasure of reading it.

Honestly, I bet you're wondering how I can tell that today's going to be interesting besides the other upsets that have already occurred. And honestly, the reasoning behind it is rather simple:

As I walked up the steps, a tall, ebony haired boy with a dark, stormy and brooding gaze was watching my procession to the front doors the entire time.

And that storm he had with him, when it hit, was going to be a big one.

* * *

"Living is strife and torment, disappointment and love and sacrifice, golden sunsets and black storms. I said that some time ago, and today I do not think I would add one word."

* * *

A/N: So, I didn't make my seven thousand word quota as of yet. However, I am dutifully planning on it in the future. I was just tired, you know school and all, and I've just been overly emotional. I needed to just get off some emotions, like stress and anxiety, so I decided to work on one of my other stories instead.

This one hits over the five thousand words mark, which is actually a good, sizeable amount for me. Actually, upon recollection, it's only around two hundred words away from six thousand - my longest chapter ever.

Anyways, I hope you all enjoyed.

Please review, favorite and follow if you'd like.

Happy Friday!

xoxoxo


	3. Missing You and Missing France Too

So, I'd just like to say that I am alive, even though _The Fault in Our Stars_ has had me crying my eyeballs out all weekend. I just haven't had the chance to write. So, here's a simple: "Hello!" from me to you guys.

I hadn't written the next chapter of _Finding Me _in about a month, which is actually crazy. I've been at a road-block with the next portion of that story. So, writing has been a bit difficult.

School's been absolutely crazy. This year ends next Wednesday for me, so Finals are going to start this Friday. I'm stressing. Hard. However, I felt like I hadn't written this story for a while, and I thought: "Why not?"

So, I sat down, and typed this chapter, and I like it. I mean, it's simple, literally does nothing but introduce a couple of characters and more about Sol, but I like it. It's a good chapter because it is necessary in the grand scheme of things.

Happy reading!

And I am sorry for not updating for a while.

**_Disclaimer: The plot and characters of KHR belong to Akira Amano; however, Sol and Matt belong to me, which is actually a blessing._**

* * *

_The stars, the moon, they have all been blown out_

_You left me in the dark_

_No dawn, no day, I'm always in this twilight_

_In the shadow of your heart_

_-_Florence and the Machine – "Cosmic Love"

* * *

Chapter 2: Missing You and Missing France Too

* * *

Logically speaking, a typical person usually runs from a hot-headed ball of stormy anxiety and mind-crushing panic, but I am not a logical person.

In fact, one could easily argue that I am the biggest idiot and most oblivious child on this earth. Would they be wrong? Quite frankly, I fear not.

Apparently, I made it to school far, far too early, if that's even possible. Yes, I gather that most children actually refuse to come to school earlier than need be, but we all know I'm a . . . special case for lack of better terminology. However, the person that was standing on the steps above me could be classified as a special – extremely special – case for a very, very different sort of reason.

Looking up into his dark, pensive glare, I defiantly hold my ground. Sure, his aura was positively _terrifying_, but I've been training for the Mafia since I was a child. I do not back down without a fight, no matter how bloody.

Finally, the mysterious . . . person, which seems too general and powerless a name to define this . . . this . . . _carnivore_ of a person, yes, carnivorous man, opens his mouth and speaks. "Why are you here this early, Herbivore?" He asks with a grating and annoyed tone.

'_Herbivore? I was legitimately jesting with my inner psyche by calling him a "carnivore", but perhaps there's more to my mental capacity than I thought Maybe the gods are with me?'_

I wanted to retaliate with a snippy comment, but I decided against it. I have an extremely vulgar habit of making people hate me on the first day of school – no couth I suppose. "I sort of got lost because I'm new here, and I just decided to come to school. Why?"

"Come back later. The Disciplinary Committee does not require students to come to school at this time. If you continue onto school property, I shall have to bite you to death." With that, he walks away with a slight smirk.

I bite back a laugh. Is this actually real life, or have I just been living a dream? Not once has anyone ever admonished me for being _early_ to school. And what in the bloody hell is "getting bitten to death supposed" to mean? Either he's actually a carnivore, or he's bonkers, or maybe he's actually both? I mean, cannibals are typically distinguished as insane, so maybe he's one-in-the-same.

I shake my head because I had begun to mentally ramble again. Old habits die hard, I must admit. Instead of following his orders and respecting his vocalic threat, I walk into the school. I mean, can we all please take a moment to accept the fact that it had taken me ages – absolutely ages - to get to the school itself, and now I must learn how to find my way around the inside of the building. He can't just take away that and make me leave the premises to come back only half an hour later.

I say let the perusing begin!

* * *

Mister Mysterious has yet to make an appearance. Thank goodness for that. And yes, I am now deeming him as 'Mister Mysterious'. I mean, he literally just up and walked away without giving me a name or even an epithet. So, may the random name christenings start.

I ended up finding my room, which had a room title above it. It read 1-A. Now, technically this class is for kids about a year or two younger than me, but I had to take this class this year. I guess it was just a requirement of mine because I am staying in Japan for the time being.

It's a nice room. Simple, cream-colored walls, a nice, large chalkboard and wonderfully large windows –perfect for not paying attention. Ah, the easy pleasures of life. There was a multitude of chairs too.

'_Must be a big class, which could be a good thing or a bad thing, depending on who's actually in the class. And whether the teacher likes them or not.'_

I didn't put my bag down because I was so early, someone would probably take it whilst I'm gone. I'm paranoid. Uber-paranoid, apparently.

I back out of the room and mentally pray I remember the route. Next, I look for the main office and the nurse's office as well as the cafeteria. Everything is in close proximity to the other, so I won't get lost. I even found the gymnasium.

I sigh, exhaling the last of my worries. Nothing could bring me down now.

I take my cell phone out of my pocket for a quick time check. There's less than five minutes before students should be arriving – the normal early kids. I nod and turn to head back to 1-A. However, I turned right into a brick wall.

Falling to the gymnasium floor, I hold the left side of my face – the side I slammed into the wall – and look up. I know for a fact there wasn't a wall there before. I'm oblivious, but I'm not blind. Well, for the most part.

However, the wall – it wasn't a wall. That was a falsified alternative to the obvious situation:

It was the stupid Disciplinary Committee guy again.

I jumped up, annoyed that he decided to find me now of all times, and give him the dirtiest look I can manage, which probably doesn't even look the slightest bit threatening with me cupping my cheek in pain.

"Who told you that you could wander around?" He questions me, and sounds rather angry, which, I must admit, is positively ridiculous.

"I told myself I could, stupid. Who stands right where a person is going to turn around and slams into them as punishment? What in the actual fuck?" I yell at him.

Instead of responding like he had in the past, he reaches into his school uniform and pulls out two weapons – I believe they're called tonfas – and gets into an offensive position.

'_Holy shit! Is this what he meant earli-'_

I can't even focus on my thoughts before he goes on Attack Mode with me. He lashes out at me with his tonfas, to which I smoothly avoided any possible means of contact. He continues to go left-right, left-right several times, each of which I dodged rather expertly, if I may be so bold as to say so. It became less of an attack and more of a dance, save for the fact that he never lost any stamina or even slowed down. Finally bored of this stupid game, I reached out and twisted his right wrist, grabbing the tonfa with my left hand.

Now, we were equal in weaponry. He shoved me off of his wrist and kicked me in the stomach. I swiveled around and landed a blow to his shoulder. The longer we did this, the more violent we became and the blows began to hurt a lot more. All-the-while, he never frowned or even cried out despite the fact I was hitting him pretty hard. Instead, he kept a sadistic smile on his face, as though this fight was a pleasure of some sort.

It all ended when I tripped though. I'm such an idiot. There wasn't anything definitive to even trip on. And yet, here I was, fighting rather well for not having had a one-on-one in quite a whole, to trip on fucking air. _Really?_

I fell, hard, on the floor, smashing my right shoulder into the ground. Wincing, I hold my shoulder only to find him wrench his tonfa out of my hand and place both of them at my throat – spikes and all.

I refused to accept that he had won, because in truth, he didn't. I'm just a klutz. So, I tripped him and he fell right over me, taking the tonfas far away from my fair-skinned throat. I kicked him off of me and threw the tonfas across the room.

"Done?" I ask him, officially getting my bloodlust for this child out of the way.

Instead of nodding in assent, he tackles me to the floor and pins my arms to the ground.

"Now I am," he breathes out. Clearly, we gave each other quite the morning workout.

"Good, can you let go of me? I do have to get to class."

He nods his head. _'That worked? Really?' _"Only because school is starting soon. However, I will bite you to death. Don't ever forget that." Walking across the room, he picks up his tonfas and left me alone in the gymnasium.

I have only had the pleasure of meeting one person so far in Japan, and he turns out to be a nutcase who has yet to tell me his actual name.

Fabulous.

* * *

Upon walking _back_ into Room 1-A, I noticed that people finally decided to walk the halls. I entered the room to find every seat taken except for the cliché window seat that most protagonists in Japanese Manga sit in. Naturally, I adopted that as my seat and looked out the window.

Everyone literally ogled at the simplicity of my entrance. I guess I was supposed to enter in a more flamboyant fashion? That's not really my style.

A few girls came rushing up to me and produced an unhealthy stream of questions at a mile a minute.

"Where are you from?"

"Is your hair natural?"

"Did you dye your hair?"

"Are those colored contacts?"

And finally, the one question I would've asked first, "What's your name?"

Responding in the order I had been questioned, I answer, "I don't remember, probably Italy. My hair is natural, so no, I don't dye it, nor would I want to. My eyes are this color, too. I don't need colored contacts. And my name is Solaria, but you can call me Sol."

Sufficient enough, right?

And then the typical wave of compliments:

"You're so pretty!"

"I love your name!"

"You're so cool!"

Ya-da, ya-da, ya-da. This (^) is the number one reason as to why I talk to guys over girls. And I'm going to leave it at that. However, I don't shoo them away, because I need an answer to one question that's been nagging me for a long while now.

I tell them all a polite thank you, all the while formulating my question: "Who's the kid from the Disciplinary Committee? The one with dark, ebony hair and steely gray eyes?"

Everyone in the room goes silent. Don't tell me this question was a taboo! Not another similarity to Harry Potter and Voldemort. Let me guess, this kid's the You-Know-Who of Namimori.

The girls all crowded in rather close to my desk, all with fear written into the very facets of their faces. "Why do you want to know?"

I scrunch up my eyebrows. This place is ridiculous. Positively ridiculous. "Because he attacked me earlier and didn't happen to mention his name. I've had to resort to giving him stupid nicknames. So, what is it?"

"You, you took on _The_ Kyoya Hibari? And lived?" One girl spluttered out, looking like she was staring at a ghost.

"Um, I'm not dead, am I? So, no, I lived. It's Hibari? Well, thank you. Glad to know he's not just a nameless freak who enjoys hurting people," I smirk. Success. Mister Mysterious no more.

"Oh, Miss Sol, you cannot just refer to him as Hibari and mock him so. He'll kill you," another girl admonished me, this one with short, caramel colored hair and sweet, brown eyes. She looked genuinely concerned, so I felt a bit bad.

"What's your name? And trust me, we already went head-to-head. I'm not looking for a second round with him. I tend to stray from the path of danger if it's one I already had the pleasure of walking on, or more like running on."

The girl looks up, still unsatisfied with the answer. "I'm Kyoko Sasagawa. And trust me when I say, Hibari has complete control over the school, including the teachers and even the principal. How did you even manage to come out with barely a bruise after fighting him?!"

I smile. She's one of those really symbolically innocent girls. It's kind of nice, though. I don't mind her questioning – it's polite. "Eh, it was really hard. He's got these tonfas that kill when they hit you. I got hit in the shoulder and I can tell a bruise is forming, but unfortunately for him, I know martial arts really well. I've been learning for years."

"Really?" Kyoko asks in awe. "That's amazing! Though, I am surprised. Hibari usually doesn't go after girls as much as the guys. He typically scares them away. Why'd he attack you so out of the blue?"

"Apparently, I came too early. Mind telling me what his role is in the school?"

"Oh, well, as you know, he's on the Disciplinary Committee. It's this huge group of delinquents that patrol the school and the town itself. Hibari's in charge of everyone in that group. He's terrifying," Kyoko ends her spiel with a little shiver. Poor kids! Hibari's insane. I knew it already.

What a wonderful thing to know that there are actually crazy people that go to the same school as me. Joy.

"In all matters of opinion, our adversaries are insane."

Oh, Oscar Wilde, good sir, you have no idea how true that quote actually is!

* * *

My teacher made me stand up in front of the class and introduce myself. It was absolutely horrid. I mean, sure, everyone had already seen me walk in, but most, save for the girls, shrugged me off after I sat down. Now all eyes were peeled on me.

It's synonymous with watching your latest dissection in Biology class. "Where should be cut first?" Ah, goodness, that wasn't fun.

Then, I was asked to talk a bit about myself.

Well, what was I supposed to say? I have the worst relationship with my dad – the absolute pits? No, definitely not. Or that my parents were killed while on a Mafia mission? Ha! Good one. That I have trouble making friends because the likeliness of me staying in school for longer than a couple of months is highly unlikely? Great, I sound like the loser I am, except for the fact I don't need them to know that.

No, none of those options were even acceptable. So, I just said what came to mind first: "I travel a lot, and so I know a lot of languages. More than," I count the languages I know by using my fingers, "seven languages in fact." I look up proudly.

Everyone looked really impressed after I said that. Good choice, good choice. I give a small smile, and sit back down, pleased that I was able to find something that seemed remotely optimistic to even speak about to the class.

And now, after succeeding in that feat, may the math lesson from Hell begin.

* * *

The morning wasn't too bad, and Kyoko would continue talking to me when we were allowed to speak. We also had lunch break, and Kyoko, her best-friend, Hana Kurokawa, who has beautiful long, black hair and observant black eyes.

They're both really nice, in a totally girlish-Japanese way. I kind of liked it.

I'm horrible at the whole, "Eat a big lunch," thing because, well, I hate lunch more than any other meal-time. So, I opted out. Naturally, that brought on a whole wave of questions and bribes to eat part of their lunches. Finally, I surrendered and ate a bit of each of their delicious Japanese lunches.

Food in France is amazing. Food in Japan is amazing. Food is amazing. And yet, I hate food.

What in the actual fuck?

Speaking of food, I wonder what Matt is eating right now. He'll probably have had his mother make him some fantastically mouth-watering lunch, like a roastbeef and Roquefort sandwich. Roquefort is this amazing cheese made in French cellars where they are aged. With wonderful bread, bright, cherry-red tomatoes and lettuce, he's probably in his glory. We used to split one of those every once-in-a-while. However, I never finished my half, so he'd finish it for me.

Matt could be having some amazing desserts and other fineries as well. I mean, there's this place that makes the best raspberry tarts, or perhaps he had yummy chouquettes, which are French cream puffs. He could have had a quiche as well. Actually, he'd eat two of those so, make that two with a small chocolate cake.

The list of French cuisine is endless. All I know is that I miss him.

I guess I had quite a grieving appearance because both Kyoko and Hana looked at me in a very concerned and motherly fashion. I told them I was reminiscing about France.

"France?!" Kyoko and Hana asked in sync. "You've been to Paris, the love capitol of the world?"

Apparently, Paris equates to love. I go for beauty and typical girls go for love. Being reclusive rocks. "Yeah, I've been to France. Paris is gorgeous, naturally. However, I liked Versailles a lot. And a couple of the other locations right up along the Mediterranean Sea. France has some amazing sights and vineyards. And the museums – to die for!"

I smile. The girls are drooling after my every word. Laughing at their facial expressions, I ask, "Do you want to go to France, or do you just enjoy hearing about places around the planet?"

"Of course we want to go!" They screech at me, giggling afterwards. "France is the best, even though I barely know any French."

I shake my head. I've been to so many places; I couldn't tell you what was better than others. I love so many things. "You want to learn French? I could . . . teach you, if you'd like?"

Kyoko and Hana freeze, slowly turning their heads to each other, and then flick them back at me. "You. Would. Teach. Us. French?"

"Uh, yeah, why not? I mean, I lived there, and I learned the language. I'm kind of an expert."

I am, right? Sort of, kind of. I mean, sure, I haven't lived there since birth, but I know all the tricks of the trade.

"Oh, yes, yes, yes! Sol, please teach us!"

"Sure, when would you like to start?" I ask, happy to see someone besides myself take such a liking to learning a new language.

"Today!" Oh . . .

Well, at least my house won't be lonely tonight.

* * *

Fortunately, the three of us did not have to run into the Carnivore at all. It was a pleasant surprise from the hunt down this morning. If I ever see him again, I swear . . .

"Where do you live, Sol?" Kyoko breaks me out of my personal thoughts.

"Uh . . ." Shit. Did I actually forget where I live?

No, wait, calm down. I think took a left I think back there, and then there was a sakura tree and . . . yeah. I think I know where to go.

"It's down there, I think." I point in the direction I think my house is.

"You think it's over there?" Hana asks, clearly distressed that I don't know where it is one hundred percent.

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure. . . Let's go!" I drag Kyoko and Hana along, praying I don't screw this up.

* * *

We found it. And it only took . . . a solid twenty minutes. Thank goodness.

"Aw, your house is so cu-utee! ~" Hana and Kyoko squeal.

It's . . . just a house, guys. Just a house.

"Thanks, I guess. I just moved in yesterday," I explain.

Hana remarks, "Wow, you went to school really quickly. Don't most kids wait a couple of days before they actually start going to school?"

Yes. They do. Unless you have my dad. Then, it's a whole new world.

"Um . . . I wouldn't actually know. Better to start early than late. I'm more motivated that way."

Hana nods in understanding. See? No one in their right mind likes school. People might like learning and seeing their friends, but school by itself . . . No one.

I stroll up to the door and unlock it, letting myself and the girls in. "Here it is."

"Wow, you really did just move in. Everything's still in suitcases and boxes."

Kyoko looked around in wonder.

I let them look around and placed my things on the counter. I went upstairs to get my things from France. It was actually a difficult feat. There were three options I had, seeing as there were three boxes. I chose the one on the left, and unfortunately, it wasn't there. I checked the middle, and it wasn't in that one either. Finally, I chose the last one on the right. Digging through other memorabilia I had, I grasped my French book at last. After my challenging search and battle with the boxes, I returned to find that the two had already sat down and begun their other homework.

I smiled in the doorway. Inviting people over to do homework and teach them a language was a first for me, besides with Matt. It was kind of nice. Welcoming.

"I found it!" I tell them, eagerly, and sit down on the end so that I was right in the middle of the two of them. All of my pictures, schoolwork and vocabulary I had learned were in this book. It's a piece of my history, apparently.

Kyoko and Hana looked in wonder and saw the pictures and witnessed all the words. I let them take a look at what they wanted and waited for any questions that would _definitely_ come.

Finally, Kyoko showed me a picture. It was of me and Matt, sitting in the tree – _our_ tree. "Who's this?"

"That's Matt. He's a very close friend from France. That was our favorite spot," I tell her. "That tree was the one place that we could sit completely off of the ground and just balance amongst the stars. We'd read, talk, sing, whatever we wanted in those wooden limbs. We'd always go on an adventure."

"You must miss him."

It wasn't a question. It was a fact.

"Yeah, yeah I do. It'll be okay, though. I'll write to him all the time. And call him, of course."

"That's sweet. I wish we could go to France. Will you ever go back?" Kyoko asks me curiously.

"I've thought about it. Especially because Matt's there, I would definitely go visit."

She nods, pleased to hear that France will come up again one day.

And together, the three of us spent the entire afternoon reminiscing about my life – the French portion at least.

* * *

"_Let us be grateful to people who make us happy, they are the charming gardeners who make our souls blossom" – _Marcel Proust

* * *

A/N: Yeah, it's definitely not as long as the other chapter. Sorry.

I just felt like if I kept going with this chapter, it'd become almost too long for what was going on in the story.

I hope you liked it.

And don't forget, reviews and PMs are always welcome. I look forward to hearing the things you guys have to say!

Have a great day!


End file.
